


lay your weary head to rest

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [72]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, newton 'is a fucking cat and will fall asleep anywhere' geiszler, not pru compliant, trying my hand at some dumb fluff after my angst streak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt is bored out of his mind.





	lay your weary head to rest

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: ""You can't save me, Hermann. I won't let you.""

“To be, or not to be…that is the question.”

Hermann sighs, feeling the urge to rub his temples rise, and instead settles on rolling his eyes. “You needn’t be so dramatic,” he says.

The other whirls around, the sheet functioning as a makeshift cape tied around his neck billowing behind him, and scowls. “Hermann,” he says, and then, again, with more emphasis, “ _Hermann_ , I’m  _bored_.”

“And what do you want  _me_ to do about it?” Hermann asks.

The other’s scowl widens. “My stuff won’t arrive for at least a  _week_ ,” he complains.

Hermann hums, attention diverted back to the laptop where the program’s finally decided to open after ages of stalling. “Draw,” he suggests, “or cook, or take a walk, or any of a thousand things, Newt—”

Newt sighs deeply. “No one loves me,” he moans.

Hermann ignores him.

Newt lets out another deep sigh and throws his arms up. “I hate you all,” he gripes, and wanders off into the bedroom. Despite himself, Hermann’s lips twitch—Newt’s dramaticity  _is_ a bit amusing, after all, though he’ll never let the other know that. Newt’s ego doesn’t need to get any larger than it already is.

It’s not until hours later that Hermann begins to suspect something afoot. His endeavours are usually disrupted at least once, but today, Newt’s usual presence is missing—suspiciously so.

He stops typing, cocks his head to the side, and listens.

Nothing.

None of the distinctive sounds of Newt tinkering with something, or the hum of his voice as he sings, or the quiet—well, relatively quiet—sound of the keyboard—in short, there’s nothing indicative of the other at  _all_.

Hermann worries his lip—Newton, silent, is almost never a good thing.

The infrequent times he  _is_ quiet are memorable—and usually not in a good way. The last time Hermann remembers it being like this was a few years ago, and that ended with—

[—Newt on the floor, seizing, eyes flickering rapidly behind closed eyelids, nose bleeding—

—He’s still shaking half an hour later when he races off to chase down a black-market kaiju supplier—]

Hermann swallows, shakes his head, tries to banish the thought. Newt’s fine, probably; Hermann saw him only a few hours ago. He can’t’ve left the flat—Hermann would’ve heard him, so he’s probably…sleeping, or something.

Still, though, it sits heavily on his mind, like an itch he can’t quite scratch, distracts him from his work, and that is—

 _That_ is unacceptable. Of course Newt would find a way to distract him even in absentia.

He drags in a breath. There’s no way he’ll be able to get anything else done, not until he’s assured himself that Newt is, indeed, just fine. With that in mind, he pushes his chair out, rises, and stretches.

“Newton?” he calls, because he’s not going to go on a wild goose-chase if this can be solved more easily, “Newton, where are you?”

There’s no reply, and Hermann orders himself to keep calm. There’s no need to panic—he might just be wearing a headset and can’t hear Hermann…though he can’t remember the last time Newt actually put on headphones or earbuds, instead preferring to play his music loudly, a catalyst for more arguments than Hermann can count.

Newt’s not in any of the usual spots—not the bedroom, not the guest room, not even, as on one particularly memorable occasion, curled up in the linen closet, somehow having contorted himself to fit in the space and then gotten stuck.

Now, though, his worry’s mounting.

Out of ideas, he clears his throat, tries for a stern tone, hopes his voice doesn’t waver. “Newton, you can come out now, I’m no longer amused—”

Suddenly, there’s a  _thunk_ and a yelp. “Ow,  _shit!_ ”

 _Newton_. Hermann breathes a sigh of relief—

Wait.

From the  _bathroom?_

Hesitant, he tries the door, finds it unlocked. Inside, Newt’s laying on the floor, blinking dazedly at the ceiling, and the bathtub’s full, the water—

“I figured I’d draw you a warm bath for when you were done,” Newt says, sheepish. “I came across one of those cool, uh, galaxy bathbombs Karla got you ages ago, but…I sort of fell asleep, and then when I woke up, you yelled, and I kind of fell—”

Hermann splutters. “I didn’t  _yell!_ ” he protests, “I was simply…concerned for your wellbeing.”

“You wanted to  _save_ me,” Newt coos. “You can’t save me, Hermann, I won’t let you—I’m perfectly capable of saving myself.”

Hermann ignores that, instead makes his way over to the tub, sticks a hand in and swirls the water. “It’s cold,” he points out.

Newt deflates a bit. “Yeah, well, like I said,” he gives a half-hearted attempt at a careless shrug. “I fell asleep.”

Hermann turns and stares at him, shakes his head. “Newton Geiszler,” he says, “you never fail to surprise me.”

“That’s good, right?” Newt grins.

Hermann smiles. “Well, I appreciate the sentiment,” he says, “but maybe next time, let me  _know_  so that I don’t spend ages worrying about you.” And with that, he turns around and pulls the plug, chuckling slightly at the mournful noise Newt makes.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [three-black-cats](https://three-black-cats.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
